


If Walls Could Talk

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dubcon at best, Extra Treat, F/M, Labyrinths, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: They call it a labyrinth, but it's a maze. There's a difference.
Relationships: Minotaur/Female Sacrifice
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous, Teratophilia Trade 2020





	If Walls Could Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harpalyke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpalyke/gifts).



> This is late but your prompts were so amazing! Full disclosure that I'm not really up on my Greek mythology so some of the lore is filing the serial numbers off of Wikipedia.

In the city of Intal, Kierith's city, there were temples full of statues to the goddesses and inscriptions listing their virtues. And beyond those, where the priests carefully tended trees that would grow in every season, there were jorlu-walks where pilgrims might go to contemplate the goddesses' blessings. The only choice was the choice to enter and worship; once you were within, the path guided you to the center, where you might leave your offering and kneel in prayer. And just as surely, it led you back to the outside world, renewed and strengthened. It was the sort of exercise Kierith had only done once or twice; the goddesses could hear her from her family's roof as well as anywhere else. But she knew it well enough that when she heard of labyrinths, it was those rituals she called to mind.

What the islanders had devised was a _maze_. Its branches were a puzzle to stymie the creature within as much as they were to make sure the humans who entered would never leave. Kierith didn't know what would happen if someone actually managed to; were there guards posted outside for the entire septennial, ready to mock their escape and plunge them back in?

Kierith would not shirk from her duty, she told herself, stepping into the threshold. Within, she could still see the sky, gray above blue above the world. Only fragments, cut off by the walls, but it was still more than a dungeon or grave.

She made turns idly, knowing there was no escape, but curious nonetheless if there was a pattern amid the silent walls. They said the islanders had cunning stonemasons with the endurance and nerve of the goddesses themselves. But then, the islanders called Intal's children names--soft and lazy, full of book-learning and unaccustomed to monsters.

The treaty of the Champion's Blood had specified that Intal needed to send its hale young men to be ravaged. It did not take any great book-learning to figure that out; no one else wanted the city's military to be too strong. The specification for women who had never known a man's flesh was, in Kierith's opinion, more confusing. She was no temptress, but she was not free from vice--she could be overcome by pride or jealousy or bitterness as well as anyone. Was one sort of flaw reckoned so worse than another, here?

 _Of course not, little one,_ said a voice beyond her. _They would spare mothers who have duties to their young ones. And the fearful, who might try to bargain for their lives._

"Who was that?" Kierith froze, turning around. They said the minotaur had the head of a bull. They said it could not speak.

 _I was wrought by a master-forger, wasn't I?_ echoed the labyrinth itself, the walls wise and mocking.

"I'm not afraid," Kierith said. Pouted, really, but what difference did it make? She was walking to her death and talking to a jorlu-walk--no, a maze.

 _I know,_ it said, almost pitying. _That will make it easier. For you, at least. Courage sweetens the mind, but gives no taste to the body._

Kierith stiffened, but there was no movement except her own heartbeat, audible amid the isolation.

Time passed and the glimpses of the sky turned from gray to orange to pink to a deep blue, to the silver spray of the galaxy against blackness. She did not expect a celestial reward for doing what had to be done, for being a daughter of Intal in the fated year. Still, part of her hoped to be remembered. The labyrinth was home to more than monsters; for a few days, hours maybe, it had sheltered human flesh.

Perhaps she slept, but who could say. When walls sang and minotaurs danced, reality was the same as nightmare.

When she woke, if she woke, she was thirsty, and remembered that the only food within would not be for her. "Please," she asked the walls, "help him--help me find him."

She felt their light amusement, their curiosity, but they made no answer.

"I'm--ready," she stammered, half to convince herself, "but I don't want...I don't want to curl up and die of thirst and be that thing's breakfast next year. If I've come here to be destroyed, I want to know how it feels. Know everything, before the end."

 _City girl_ , they laughed. _You will know that and more, but you need no help to find your way._

It wasn't like Kierith could remember which way she'd come; every wall looked the same. But the corners varied. Some brought her two paths, some three. She turned them over in her head, still not sure if they fit together into anything greater than the sum of their parts. Rounded a corner where there was no branch, only the choice to continue on--and the shadow of an inhuman face blocked her way.

The minotaur seized her, tore at her clothes with anger. They were a rude imitation of fur, and no good to eat. And then he had pushed her to the ground, hands gripping her like claws. The gods of the cities beyond apprehended the earth in many forms, Kierith reminded herself. He was lonely, and jealous of the kings and heroes who feasted according to their own calendar and took tribute they felt was their due. Still, as he roared within her, she wondered again whether the treaty had been wise. How could someone as new, as confused as her, please the captive who had seen so much?

There was no word nor recognizable sign that told her if he was satisfied. She could not say she had enjoyed it; he smelled and sweated and made too much noise. But she lived, if momentarily, to see what came next.

As he rose, she reached for his horn. It was sharp and keen like the walls themselves, the craft of a master, not ungainly and overpowering like his human parts. Though he could not know her wonder, he stayed for a moment, letting her feel.

Then he pulled away, bowed low, and bellowed forward, to pierce it through her chest and rapture her frail heart.


End file.
